


Honey Honey Honeypie

by deafpool (castielsass)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, First Time, First Time Bottoming, Humour, Insinuations of PTSD, Love Confessions, M/M, Post Chapter Two, Requited Love, Richie Tozier Cries During Sex, Stanley Uris Lives, Top Richie Tozier, Town House, the inherent homoeroticism of piercing your best friend at a sleepover, the mortifying exploration of repressed sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21526885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielsass/pseuds/deafpool
Summary: Richie inhaled deeply, and Eddie smelled like mint and clean pure soap, his lips were soft and he tasted faintly like some berry chapstick, and Eddie pulled him down again, to kiss him and kiss him, and kiss him.When Eddie pulled back his eyes were big, and heated and Richie blinked at him and said the first thing that came to mind, which was; “thank you.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 129
Kudos: 1117





	Honey Honey Honeypie

**Author's Note:**

> -wanders in, drops goofy porn at ur feet, ignores wips, wanders out-

They arrived back at the Town House from brunch, overly warm from the unseasonably hot weather. Eddie’s little grocery bag made a loud hollow sound when he dropped it onto the floor beside the bar, the shampoo inside it toppling over. 

Richie watched as Eddie poured a sober measure of gin into a glass of tonic water, and then offered the rest of the bottle to him. 

“I think I need to lie down,” Richie said, and sounded distant even to himself. “Toss me a whiskey, Eddie m’boy, and send me off to slumber.”

Eddie frowned at him, but he poured a double anyway, although he wiped out the inside of the glass first. “It’s like noon,” he said.

“Sleep is good for us,” Richie said, and took the glass. “We’re healing.” 

Healing was a strange choice of word, but it still fit. None of them were injured so badly they needed to recover much physically, but Richie didn’t feel well, he still felt hollowed out, like someone had taken a weapon to his insides and scooped him out clean. 

It wasn’t so bad for the rest of them, he supposed. Ben and Beverly had already left, and Mike hadn’t been long after them. His departure had been awkward, but only because Richie was worried about him finding the envelope with the cheque inside his suitcase. He didn’t know what he would have said if Mike had questioned him about it, and he worried he’d offend him, there weren’t really enough words to explain that it wasn’t a bribe, or even a gift, but the only thing Richie could think to do to help. 

Mike deserved more, and there wasn’t enough money in the world to thank someone for giving up thirty years of their life to be a guardian of a town that hated them, but Richie figured a little cash to help set Mike up for his road trip was the least he could fucking do. He was pretty sure too, that while he was stuffing the envelope in Mike’s carry-on that he’d seen two others, a big brown envelope with Bill’s handwriting, and a small, neat card with Stan’s sloping scrawl. 

Only Bill, Eddie and Richie had remained in the Town House. Stan had flown back to his wife as soon as he could, flush with hugs and firm cheek kisses (mostly from Richie), with a new scar clean across his chest, and promises to text everyday. 

Richie couldn’t bring himself to leave, yet. There was a strange, peaceful haze around the House, like they’d formed some kind of protective mist over it, just by all being together. He thought about flying back to LA, about getting on a plane, maybe springing for first class, and a pretty steward handing him a screwdriver the second they got in the air. 

He thought about cold condensation and ice clinking in a glass, and watching Maine disappear through the grimy glass of the little window. He considered landing in LAX and ubering back to his apartment, and locking the door behind him and finally being alone, plane-sweaty and exhausted. He’d drop his suitcase, still dusty at the wheels from Derry, maybe throwing out the little fern by the door that he was pretty sure had to have died while he was away. Instead, he swallowed his whiskey and went upstairs to sleep. 

His dreams were jumbled, strange memories of the Losers, mostly. He dreamed about sitting at the Jade and watching Bill smile at Mike, big, and pleased, and hearing Eddie murmur to Bev that he had been married, still was really, but when he got Mike’s call he’d left everything behind, and the long, quiet look he’d shared with her over the table. He dreamed about blood pouring out of fortune cookies, and Mike saying “it doesn’t matter, Rich, forget about it,” and brushing them away harmlessly, and Ben pushing Eddie behind him to protect him, and Bill yelling, and then the dream changed to a sense memory of how the pegs on the back of Bill’s bike had felt on the thin soles of his shoes. 

Wind hot and dry through his long hair, Bill howling with laughter and cycling fast enough to make Richie afraid, really afraid, in a joyous, hysterical kind of way. 

His shoulders had been shockingly broad for a boy of only thirteen, and Richie had held onto his narrow waist with a clutching kind of excitement. He sees silhouettes in the distance, sun baking down the grey road, as they barrel towards them. 

They resolve, Mike is waving at them both, straddling his own bike, grinning and open, and Eddie is piggybacking on Ben and shrieking with laughter. He blows a kiss to Richie, and puts both his hands in the air and makes Ben overbalance, giggling. 

Beverly’s knee is bleeding sluggishly from a tumble off Richie’s skateboard and Stan isn’t looking at them, he’s pressing a bandaid stolen from Eddie onto Bev’s knee. They’re waiting for their turn on Silver, but it’s Richie’s turn now, to fly down the street at Bill’s back, his stomach swooping when they go so fast the wheels lift clear from the ground. 

It feels like flying, but it’s better because he can see the others watching them. 

He dreams about a party they’d had at Mike’s when he’d turned sixteen, when Mike’s grandparents let them set up in the small barn and play music from Ben's boombox in the humid, hot night. Mike’s grandad had dragged sleeping bags up to the loft and lectured them about ticks and coming back inside if it got too hot, and Richie had fed Eddie half a glass of stolen white wine and then pierced his ear with a sewing needle. 

Beverly had snuck in once Mike’s grandparents had went to bed, and taken a silver stud out of her own ear and given it to Richie. Richie remembers how it felt to gently press the needle, (push and then a pop), sterilized on his Zippo through Eddie’s earlobe, downy-soft with pale peach fuzz. He’d bled only lightly and Richie had pushed the stud through the fresh hole and watched Eddie’s eyes glitter. Ben had winced and refused to watch and Mike poured rubbing alcohol over the hole while Eddie swore at him and Stan had panicked about the blood. He must have taken it out the next day, Richie thinks, because he doesn’t remember either of them getting in trouble for it. Richie dreams about seeing Eddie outside the Jade, and recognizing the tiny circular dot in his flesh, healed but scarred still. 

Richie woke up, and the dreams took their sweet time leaving him, so he brushed his teeth to encourage their passing. He wondered if Bill and Eddie wanted to eat, or if they’d left while he slept, but a knock on his door brought him out of his thoughts. 

Eddie. Richie let him in automatically, and when he passed him in the gap of the door he smelled like soap, and his hair was soft and dark. Richie’s downfall had always been how touchable Eddie looked. It was easier to think of other people, because no matter how attractive anybody else had ever been they’d been distant. There was some barrier with everyone else and him. He thought for a moment about Ben, how beautiful he had always been and how he grew up, and he felt nothing. Ben was gorgeous, nobody could deny, but if he wanted to reach out, Richie thought if he could touch, his hand would connect with Ben’s arm, and he’d be warm and muscled, and there wouldn’t be any connection. Just skin. 

He’d always been more afraid to touch Eddie, but he’d done it anyway, and Eddie wouldn’t think it strange. He had never minded. When they were small Richie had made a habit of grabbing Eddie, or pulling him around by the hand, or the wrist, and petting his thick hair, and pushing his way into his space, and Eddie had always let him. More than let him, he had pushed back, had climbed into the hammock, the sleeping bag, their beds with him and tucked himself in along the line of Richie’s body and claimed a space, close and touchable.  


Soft and clean, and smelling of soap, Eddie was more tangible than anything else in the world. Richie tucked his hands into his pockets. 

“Are you drunk?” Eddie asked and Richie squinted at him and pushed his glasses up on his nose.  


“No? I had one drink. You were there, you poured it,” Richie reminded him and Eddie sighed. His fingertips twitched. “Are _you_ drunk?”  


“I had two drinks,” Eddie admitted. “So come here, please.”

Richie was as close as he could get. Confused, he stayed where he was. Eddie gave off heat like a little furnace, he always had run hot. Richie curled his hands into fists for the comfort of it. Eddie leaned past him then, and closed the lock on the door, his fingers steady. 

The lock clicked home with a quiet sound. If it were anyone else in the world, Richie thought he’d probably be pretty certain of some things, but it wasn’t, it was Eddie. Even as Eddie crowded him up against the wall beside the door, and pushed into his space, Richie was still thinking about the best way to spin this into a joke, about how to distract Eddie from the way his hands were sweating. 

Eddie was small, as much as he had ever complained otherwise, and when he kissed Richie he had to push up onto the balls of his feet.

“Come here,” Eddie said, again and Richie dropped his head and let Eddie kiss him. The surprise pinned his feet to the floor, but Eddie planted a warm, firm kiss to his lower lip, so careful and earnest that Richie couldn’t help but to open up.

Richie inhaled deeply, and Eddie smelled like mint and clean pure soap, his lips were soft and he tasted faintly like some berry chapstick, and Eddie pulled him down again, to kiss him and kiss him, and kiss him. 

When Eddie pulled back his eyes were big, and heated and Richie blinked at him and said the first thing that came to mind, which was; “thank you.”

Eddie laughed, but it wasn’t a mean laugh, it sounded quietly relieved and pleased. “Kiss me,” he told Richie. 

They were quick to gain momentum but Richie kept stopping to look at the door, to make sure it was still locked. Eddie pushed into his space, hot and clean and quick, like he was desperate, and Richie fisted his hands into the hem of Eddie’s T-shirt before he could think about it. Eddie let him, and lifted his arms so Richie could pull it off. 

Richie was hard already, and that was so fucking embarrassing, but Eddie didn’t seem to care. His body was narrow, and neat, and lean, but he tucked Richie’s shirt up around his waist to touch at the softness of his hips like it was all he wanted. The wall was cold against Richie’s bare skin, and he shivered, and then watched Eddie drop down. He landed heavily on his knees, planted between Richie’s bare feet, and he shivered again. 

Eddie wasn’t patient, or gentle, and Richie was grateful for that because he thought if either of them stopped to talk he wouldn’t be able to go on and he wanted to, so badly. Eddie clearly wasn’t practiced but it didn’t fucking matter, not when he dragged Richie’s underwear down just enough to pull his cock out. 

He licked him first, his tongue a shocking pink flash against Richie’s pale cock. His whole body was so hot and overwhelmed it almost felt like nothing at first, like all of his senses had pushed into overdrive. Eddie’s left hand was buried under Richie’s shirt, his palm hot as he petted at his stomach, and he licked over the ridge at the head of Richie’s cock. It all felt the same, like Richie was going to blow from the palm laid shockingly gently on the round of his stomach as much as the sucking, light kisses Eddie pressed to the underside of his cock. 

Then Eddie gripped him with his right hand, and held Richie steady and pulled him into his mouth and Richie’s cock jerked. He could feel the head hit the top of Eddie’s mouth. He was making a lot of noise, not even moans or words, just a harsh, rhythmic telltale panting. Eddie looked at him, Richie could feel his eyes on him, but he was also holding Richie’s cock and sucking the head into his mouth again and again, and Richie couldn’t watch him. 

He _wanted_ , aggressively, he’d always been a pining, wanting mess of a man but he’d always been able to hide it before, but he couldn’t hide it with Eddie on his knees in front of him, held upright like a ship mast, because Richie was too tall for him to sit on his heels. He dragged Eddie up by his waist and he ripped his shirt off, and he kissed him, and he waited and waited and waited for Eddie to tell him _no, stop, what are you doing?_ But he didn’t, instead Eddie shoved his way into Richie’s space and pressed his hard cock alongside Richie’s and Richie thought _oh_ and then they pushed each other over to the bed and climbed into the ruffled sheets and he stopped thinking altogether. 

Eddie had brought condoms, and lube with him and Richie would make a joke about being presumptuous, but then Eddie wrapped his thighs around Richie’s waist, and lifted up like he was grinding on him, like they were already fucking and Richie was worried he might try to thank Eddie again if he spoke, so he shut up. 

They still wore their clothes, half-clawed off each other, and they must have looked fucking stupid, Richie’s sweatpants around his ankles and he was still wearing his shirt, though it was rucked up around his waist. Eddie had only managed to remove one leg of his jeans, but his jacket and his shirt were gone because Richie needed to see the clean wholeness of his chest, safe and alive. Eddie’s hands shook so much Richie had to grip his wrist to dip his fingers in the pool of lube he offered him, but Richie’s hands were trembling too so it wasn’t much better. 

He thought he should probably stop, should probably have made sure this was what Eddie wanted, and it was probably presumptuous to wet his fingers and immediately go between Eddie’s legs. But Eddie spread his thighs, and Richie thought he probably didn’t need to ask Eddie if this is how he wanted it when he ground down on Richie’s fingers like he might die if he didn’t get fucked as soon as possible. He was tight inside, and hot and Richie spread slick through him and couldn’t think of anything else, only Eddie and the way he flexed his hips like he was riding Richie’s hand even though it couldn’t have been that good yet. Eddie put his slick hand around Richie’s cock and he barely even jacked him off, he was mostly just touching him, playing with him. Richie could feel his hands shake, and he rested his forearm against his own thigh to brace himself. 

Eddie urged him on, to press another finger in, and then to kiss him, hot and deep, and then he manhandled Richie up firmly until he was pressed between Eddie’s legs, above him. He petted the spot inside that made Eddie flutter around his fingers and moan. Richie could hear himself saying Eddie’s name softly, like a chant, in strict counterpoint to how roughly he fingered him. Eddie’s hand flung out to the side and Richie thought for one bewildered minute back to the cavern, to seeing Eddie reach out and grab a rock, and he thought _looking for a weapon_ for a split second but of course he wasn’t. He grabbed a condom and tore it open with his free hand and his teeth. His hand was so soft and warm and he rolled the condom down on Richie like he was afraid to hurt him. Richie was worried he was gonna fucking come before he even got inside so he slipped his fingers out and held Eddie’s knees tightly, his hands a greedy grip tight on Eddie’s legs. 

Eddie dripped lube onto the top of the condom and Richie was so sensitive he could feel it roll down the latex in slick trails. He buried his face in the crook between Eddie’s shoulder and his throat, that soft pure slate of skin that smelled like soap and clean sweat, and he sunk his teeth in.  
“Come on,” Eddie chanted and Richie used one hand to hold him, to help him keep his thigh high, his knee pressed into his ribs, and the other one to guide his cock inside. Eddie was so tight and demanding, he grabbed into Richie’s shoulders, hands clenched in his shirt and he bossed Richie around terribly, and Richie thought for a long awful moment that he’d do anything Eddie asked him, and what a dreadful power that was to give someone. 

Eddie made a noise like he was shocked when Richie pushed fully inside, his pelvis flush against Eddie’s ass. He’d never been so close to someone before. He’d had sex, obviously, but still this felt new, like the soft curve of Eddie’s ass cradled against his pelvis and thighs, his cock swallowed up inside was the most intimate he’d ever been with someone. 

He didn’t get long to marvel, because Eddie was already grinding up onto his cock and pulling back, fucking himself determinedly. He made noise, quiet punched-out desperate sounds like he wanted Richie to stop fucking around and give it to him, so Richie did. He held Eddie’s knees apart, and drove into him quick and deep, and Eddie’s face smoothed out, almost peaceful, and Richie thought this might be what Eddie looked like when he was getting what he wanted. Richie swallowed, abruptly afraid he might do anything to keep that look on his face. Eddie was hot underneath him, and the seam of his half-removed clothes rubbed against his skin, and when he pushed forward his shirt dropped down and got lube on the hem. His thighs felt like they were cramping with how hard he was giving it to Eddie, and he was breathing loud, and the wet hem of his shirt irritated the sensitive skin of his lower stomach, and he thought quietly, abruptly that this was the best thing that ever happened to him. 

Eddie fluttered around him, his thighs trembling, and his heel kept hitting the top of Richie’s ass when he pulled out, but the arch of his back made up for it. Richie wondered briefly if it’d leave a bruise, a round little shadow on his skin to mark him up, a secret signature. Richie buried his free hand in Eddie’s hair, the thick strands slipping through the gaps between his fingers, and he tried to hold lightly. His hand shook, and he tugged on the locks too hard accidentally, dragging Eddie’s head back, like his hands had a mind of their own. Eddie breathed out a shivery little moan and Richie spread his knees to get better leverage, to brace himself and keep moving in the deep, quick grind that made Eddie clench around him rhythmically. 

His whole body locked up, his hands snatching at Richie’s back, his sweating knees high up around Richie’s ribcage like he was bracketing him. Richie inhaled sharply, fought down a moan, and he could vaguely hear the bed moving with them, the embarrassing metallic bounce of springs. Richie started to let go of his hair to touch Eddie’s cock, to get his fingers around the slick pink curve, but Eddie locked up tight around his cock, and came before Richie could unwind his fingers. Richie looked down, his hips paralysed in the fierce clasp of Eddie’s body, and he watched Eddie spill across his own tight stomach, and gasp Richie’s name, and scratch his shoulders like he couldn’t get close enough, and Richie came, buried as deep inside as he could press. 

Richie’s breath wasn’t quick to return to him and he would blame a lifetime of smoking, but he knew better since Eddie had never so much as held a cigarette, and his breath was the same panting gasp. 

“Well,” Richie started and lost his train of thought. 

“Uh-huh,” Eddie said. His fingers were clenched tightly on the edge of the sheets, pulled up high over his chest like he was afraid that somebody was going to see him. Richie winced as he caught a glimpse of a dark suck-bruise on the curve of his shoulder. 

“Sorry I bit you,” he said lamely. Eddie’s fingers didn’t relax but the corners of his mouth turned down slightly in a strange combination of irritation and satisfaction. 

“No, it turned out I liked it,” Eddie reassured him. “...sorry I scratched you up.”

“No,” Richie said. “Turned out I like it.”

Silence remained between them for a moment, hot and sweaty, the only sound in the room the faint buzz of the mediocre air conditioning. Richie drummed his fingers over the sheets for a minute, the thuds hitting his bare chest softly. Eddie adjusted his feet sullenly, little pointy things moving under the white sheet like shark fins. He abruptly lifted his left foot out from under the sheets, visible confusion on his face. His jeans hung around his ankle, wound up in a tangle. Eddie tried to kick them off, but they were tight around his calf and he had to sit up to shove the material down and kick it off. Richie tried not to watch the pale, long line of his back, the shallow dip of his spine next to the firm muscles, the soft skin dotted with faint freckles that’d probably darken in sunshine, the burgeoning bruise on his upper shoulder blade where Richie had held him too tight. He watched anyway. Eddie gave a shove, and the jeans landed with a slumping noise in a tangle on the floor. 

“Hey,” Richie said urgently. He turned to face Eddie, and the stiffness in his lower back surprised him. He grimaced and rubbed at it half heartedly. “I’m freaking out, I need you to be my friend again.” Richie paused for a moment to attempt to rephrase, to explain better that he didn’t think Eddie had actually stopped being his friend, but thankfully Eddie didn’t need an explanation, he just rolled towards him, and faced Richie with the sheets still dragged up high over his bare chest. 

“Ok, I’m here,” Eddie said and Richie breathed a gusty sigh of relief, accidentally blowing strands of Eddie's hair directly into his eyes. Eddie pushed his hair back irritably. 

“Did we fuck up?” Richie asked, and the terror in his voice clearly affected Eddie because he reached out and touched Richie’s bicep firmly. His grip was hot, and by his fingertip there was just a touch of slick and Richie thought dizzily that he didn’t know if that was sweat or lubricant. 

“No,” Eddie said decidedly, and Richie was ready to fight, but Eddie wasn’t finished. “It’s just like…” he trailed off, and his gaze fixed somewhere high above Richie’s head, settling in the pale wallpaper. He sighed heavily. 

“...this fucking sucks, like I legitimately thought sex was something people were exaggerating. I’m forty years old, dude!”

“What the fuck,” Richie said in agreement. “I didn’t know it was like…” he trailed off because there were no casual phrases left in him, there were no words to describe how he felt. He didn’t know how to say _i thought sex was going to be drunk handjobs in tiny dirty bathrooms filled with shame for the rest of my life_ or _i didn’t know I liked that until you did it_ or worst of all the constant thrum like a heartbeat of _what if this felt like that because I love you and I’ve always loved you and I’ll never love anyone else in my life and what if what if what if it’ll never be like this again for the rest of my life and I don’t know how to go without again and what if I only liked that because it was you who did it what if I try with someone else when you leave and it’s worse than bad, it’s cold and empty and sad and a hollow copy that feels like a mockery._

“I know,” Eddie said moodily and it took a moment for Richie to catch up. “I didn’t know I could come like that,” he said and he sounded so cross that Richie had to stifle a hysterical laugh. 

“Did you not like... coming like that?” Richie had to check, and Eddie rolled onto his back, a cloud of irritation heavy around him. He folded his arms across his chest and Richie caught a glimpse of a pink mark around his wrist where he had grabbed Eddie too enthusiastically and rubbed the skin hard. 

“It was the best sex I’ve ever had,” Eddie said dourly and Richie blinked at him. 

“Yeah, me too,” he said, but without the visible anger that was coming off Eddie in waves. “So like, why are you so mad?” 

“Because I was married to a woman, Richie! Because I spent my entire life thinking sex was a chore you did to keep your marriage intact! Because I thought everybody felt like that! Because I’m forty fucking years old and I never knew that the reason I didn’t like having sex with women was _because I don’t like having sex with women!_ And I could have had this, but it was fucking stolen from me by people and that monster and everything, and now what? Now fucking what, Richie? Am I supposed to go back to New York and try come to terms with the fact that my whole fucking personal life has been a sham because it turns out I’m fucking gay and I was the last person to know that? Richie, I legitimately convinced myself that the reason I didn’t wanna sleep with my wife was because nobody actually really liked sex, it was all exaggerated! And it turns out I like sex, turns out I fucking love it, but apparently the reason I fucking didn’t realize that is because I kept trying to stick my dick where it didn’t belong when I should have been getting it!” 

“Are you ok?” Richie felt the need to ask. Eddie had sat up again near the end of his furious rant, and strangely, Richie wanted to cover him up again, wrap him in the cool parts of the sheets, to cover up his heated skin, and his freckles and the marks Richie had left on him. 

__“I’ll be fine, I’m just so mad,” Eddie said, quieter, as always, quick to anger and quicker to calm. Something terrible and huge hurt deeply in Richie’s chest. He loved him fiercely, the only way he had ever loved him, with a clenching pain._ _

He waited a moment, and Eddie slumped back, his head resting against the headboard. His hair was a mess from Richie’s greedy hands. Richie fiddled with the edge of the bedsheet, drawing the cool hem between his fingers repeatedly. 

__“Do you wanna do it again?” Richie said suddenly, and tilted his head towards Eddie with a questioning look._ _

__“Fucking of course I wanna do it again,” Eddie hissed, like Richie was an idiot to ask, and a pang of relief and confusion went though Richie so intensely that he quieted down._ _

__Suddenly Eddie sat up, and dragged his phone out from the pocket of his jacket, still abandoned half on, half off the bed. He moved so abruptly that Richie thought he was leaving and felt a surge of panic so intense it made his heart clench. But Eddie just grabbed his phone and sat up decisively and tapped into it furiously._ _

__Richie’s phone lit up with the group chat on the bedside locker, and he saw Eddie's message pop onto the screen (turns out I’m gay) and he pressed his phone to his chest._ _

__“Why’d you do that?” Richie croaked and Eddie shoved his phone under the pillow abruptly and gave a huge, heaving, wheezy breath._ _

__“Because it’s fucking... so scary, it’s so scary, so like, fuck it!” Eddie said angrily and dropped hard onto his back, and stared at the ceiling._ _

__“Oh no,” Richie said aloud. “Oh no, I’m so… I keep thinking it’ll stop, man, I keep thinking there’s a floor but Jesus, there’s really not, I just keep finding new levels, you know?”_ _

__“Rich, are you crying?” Eddie asked, in a high, panicked voice. His hands fluttered, automatically reached out and landed on him._ _

__“I’m so fucking in love with you, dude,” Richie sobbed._ _

__“Oh Jesus,” Eddie said._ _

__“I used to dream about this,” Richie cried. “Since I was thirteen I used to think about this, I used to think about you all the time, all the fucking time, Eds, it’s so fucking embarrassing, I’m so fucking crazy for you.”_ _

__“Thirteen?” Eddie repeated and another sob tore through Richie. He pressed his hands to his eyes, and scrubbed, like he could stop crying if he just hurt himself enough._ _

__“I thought you were gonna die! And now I don’t know what to do, you were almost fucking killed saving my life, and I held you and I thought you were fucking impaled, and I couldn’t - I can’t - Eddie, I thought you were dead and now I don’t know how to pretend like I haven’t been in love with you my whole life, anymore,” Richie rambled, and he pressed his forearms over his eyes, to hide._ _

__“Don’t!” Eddie snapped._ _

__“What?”_ _

__“Don’t fucking… just… be with me, don’t pretend you don’t- just be with me!”_ _

__“What?” Richie repeated. He turned slightly to look at Eddie, blurry as he was from the tears in his eyes._ _

__“Please stop crying,” Eddie said desperately. “Richie, Christ, why are you crying?”_ _

__“I’m not crying!” Richie sobbed._ _

__“I love you, I want you, I want to be with you!” Eddie yelled and Richie hiccuped. “So stop fucking crying, you’re breaking my fucking heart, please.”_ _

__“What?” Richie said again, and thought for a minute that Eddie looked like he wanted to smack him._ _

__“Richie! For fuck’s sake, c’mon, there’s no way. There’s no fucking way I’m leaving, I love you, why do you think I came here? I literally just had sex with you, and I just said I wanted to do it again-“_ _

__“Right now?” Richie asked, wetly._ _

__“No, not right now, you fucking moron, you’re crying-“_ _

__“I’m not crying!”_ _

__“I love you,” Eddie said, and he sounded bizarrely angry about it, so angry that Richie had to touch his own chest and feel his racing heartbeat. “So shut the fuck up.”_ _

__“Ok,” Richie said quietly, wetly, and Eddie dragged his hand over Richie’s cheeks, cleaning off the tears like they had personally offended him._ _

__Richie thought he could really fucking go for a smoke, but if Eddie saw him try to go outside Richie knew he’d mock him so mercilessly that it’d ruin any lingering after glow that wasn’t already summarily destroyed by their mutual panic._ _

__“Oh god!” Eddie said abruptly, and Richie turned to him in bewilderment. “Everyone was right, I really did have a crush on Rivers Cuomo in the nineties! Aww man... I thought I just thought he was cool,” he said, distraught._ _

__“Who the fuck is Rivers Cuomo?” Richie demanded and Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose like he was getting a headache._ _

__“The singer!” Eddie grabbed Richie’s iPhone and googled it and turned the screen towards him, so close it almost pressed into his nose. Richie grabbed Eddie’s wrist and dragged it back enough to see._ _

__“Oh, he’s… Uh,” Richie said._ _

__“He was hotter before they tried to make him hot,” Eddie explained. “The record company or whatever tried to make him less…”_ _

__“Goofy?” Richie offered. The photo of a skinny, angular guy with a mop of dark hair, wearing sweatpants didn’t look anything like Richie’s idea of ‘hot’._ _

__“Minimize his personality or something,” Eddie decided. “He was so cute.”_ _

__“Uh…” Richie said, and tapped a photo to maximize it. “Eds.”_ _

__“I know,” Eddie said, staring at the photo intensely. “I fucking know so don’t even say it, alright, I just realized.”_ _

__“I wasn’t gonna say anything," Richie said, a frisson of childish excitement in his chest. “Just that you maybe have a type.”_ _

__“It’s not a fucking type, asshole,” Eddie hissed. “It was a subconscious-“_ _

__“That’s worse!” Richie said, delightedly._ _

__“Shut up! Oh god, Bev used to call him my boyfriend,” Eddie lamented. “Stan called me Eddie Weezer for a whole year.”_ _

__Richie laughed, a deep genuine laugh from his stomach, and he was surprised to hear it._ _

__“This is worse than when I had that crush on Shaggy,” Eddie moaned._ _

__Richie squinted at him. “The it wasn’t me guy?”_ _

__“No,” Eddie said miserably._ _

__“From Scooby-!”_ _

__“He was funny!” Eddie defended himself. “And he was always nice and tall- why would they draw him hot if they don’t want kids to get crushes?!”_ _

__“Not even the movie guy,” Richie said ecstatically. “The cartoon-“_ _

__“He was handsome, and I was like 10, asshole!”_ _

__“You’re my favorite person in the whole world,” Richie said, without permission from his brain. “Don’t tell Bev I said that.”_ _

__“She probably knows,” Eddie said, preening, and then, darkly; “She better fucking know.”_ _

__“How are you jealous right now?” Richie asked, delighted._ _

__“I’m not fucking jealous!”_ _

__“Oh my god, you so are,” Richie said happily. “Why? She’s with Ben and if you missed it, I’m fucking gay anyway, and if you somehow missed that part too, I literally had my entire dick inside you like twenty minutes ago, and then told you I was in love with you-“_ _

__“That’s not the point,” Eddie said grimly. “You’re my favorite, obviously, but it’s different.”_ _

__“How?”_ _

__“Because-! She used to have a crush on you!”_ _

__“No she didn’t!”_ _

__“Oh my fucking god, she literally told me, when we were like fifteen, she told me if you tried to kiss her she’d probably let you, but you never tried-“_ _

__“One guess why-“_ _

__“It doesn’t matter,” Eddie said sullenly. Richie wrapped him up abruptly, arms winding around his tight little body. “The point is-“_ _

__“She’s our friend,” Richie said. “I never exactly carried a torch for her, and she didn’t for me, but even if she had, even if she had fuckin’ scribbled Mrs Beverly Tozier all over her schoolbooks it wouldn’t matter because you were always the only one for me.”_ _

__“Oh,” Eddie said, a soft little gutpunch of a noise. “I did that once,” he said after a moment._ _

__“Did what?” Richie asked, and blinked at Eddie, small and sweaty and pink all over, except for the dark flash of his hair and eyes, and the streaks of white across his stomach._ _

__“I read in a magazine… this is so fucking stupid, why am I saying this- I read in a magazine that you put shit out into the universe and like - the power of attraction and - you gotta devote yourself to an idea- and. I uh. How high up are we?” Eddie asked, eyeing the window._ _

__“We’re on the second floor,” Richie said, comfortably._ _

__“The fall wouldn’t kill me,” Eddie said. “Fine. I spent like an hour writing your name in a notebook with all of the colored pencils I had until it filled up the whole page and then I panicked and I didn’t know what to do with it so I hid it in my sock drawer and my mother found it and asked me why I’d written nothing but your name two hundred times and I told her I didn’t know.”_ _

__“You… this might be what a heart attack feels like, actually,” Richie said and Eddie sat up abruptly. “Or is this happiness? Am I dying?”_ _

__“Shut the fuck up,” Eddie said hotly. “The only person here dying is me when I go headfirst through that window.”_ _

__“I carved our initials into the kissing bridge,” Richie said, in an ecstasy of happiness._ _

__“You fucking idiot-! What if someone had seen you?” Eddie demanded._ _

__“Didn’t care,” Richie said dreamily. “Couldn’t care. Was too full up on loving you, had to put it somewhere or I felt like I was gonna explode.”_ _

__“I can’t believe I’m gonna marry you,” Eddie said grumpily and bizarrely, Richie’s dick twitched. Richie wriggled in bliss, until Eddie tucked the blankets around them both aggressively. He shoved the sheets neatly under the right side of Richie’s body, and then dragged one of the pillow down to put his head on. He planted a firm kiss on Richie’s forehead. Richie had never been tucked in so viciously before._ _

__“Shut the fuck up and go to sleep,” Eddie told him._ _

__“It’s three pm,” Richie said._ _

__“We’re healing,” Eddie said. “Sleep is good for us. Go to sleep.”_ _

__“You just want privacy so you can throw yourself through the window,” Richie said affectionately._ _

__“I love you,” Eddie said. “Always, ok?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Richie croaked. “Me too.”_ _

__Eddie pressed back into his arms, and rested his head on Richie’s chest and Richie wondered when this would stop, the terrifying swell of almost hysterical happiness inside him._ _

__“Go to sleep,” Eddie told him and Richie closed his eyes._ _

___Congratulations!_ Read Ben’s upsettingly sincere response. Bev sent a heart emoji. _“Love you, proud of you,”_ Mike wrote.  
Stan’s text only read _“yeah we’ve met you”_ but Richie knew him and he knew he’d have texted Eddie something heartfelt privately.  
_“Congrats 2 u and Richie,”_ Bill said.  
_“Why Richie?”_ Eddie had typed back.  
_“Because we share a wall,”_ Bill replied. _“ive never been sexiled from a room I wasn’t even in be4, it was impressive.”_  
Eddie had sent back a shrug emoji.  
Richie smiled at it stupidly and tucked his phone back under the pillow. He loved Eddie again, like it was a verb, with another active pang, but already it didn’t hurt so badly. 

**Author's Note:**

> eddie's type is "goofy" and no i will not be taking criticism. catch rivers cuomo in '94 and tell me eddie wouldnt have been all about that.


End file.
